


Brimstone and Salt

by WoodsWitch



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Biblical literalism except not, Burning-sulfur-related flashback, Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), Domestic, During Canon, Early-stage pining, Established Relationship, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), In frame story, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Not actually adversaries, Other angels and demons being terrible, Post-Canon, Sodom and Gomorrah, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, a little bit, law of hospitality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24930643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoodsWitch/pseuds/WoodsWitch
Summary: Aziraphale's attention was drawn back to the demon on the sofa when he uttered a particularly loud snort."Did you tell the author of this one I was an angel?" Crowley demanded, as soon as Aziraphale poked his head in the room to investigate."Which one, dear? I can't hear what you're listening to," the angel pointed out patiently."Genesis, chapter 19..."Crowley listens to an audiobook version of the bible (no more burnt hands!), which triggers a memory of the time when an early attempt to just hang out and enjoy a cocktail with an angel went seriously awry thanks to a gang of extremely pushy humans, a demonic prank, and some of Aziraphale's more smite-happy colleagues.AKA: Aziraphale and Crowley's most literally disastrous date ever.**TW for implied threats of sexual violence (though nothing actually happens) and some actual smiting-related violence. Also references to historically homophobic misinterpretations of the Sodom and Gomorrah episode, and the weird drunk incest conclusion of that story.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	Brimstone and Salt

One autumn evening, after closing hours, Aziraphale puttered around the bookshop, reshelving volumes according to a system that perhaps no one but another eccentric celestial being would understand. It was a much more necessary task, now that he - or rather _they_ \- had decided to actually sell more than three books a year. Aziraphale had discovered that he quite enjoyed helping people find the perfect book, provided he had not become too attached to the specific volume in question. It was an excellent outlet not only for his vast knowledge of literature, but also for his angelic impulses, now that he was no longer technically heaven's agent. Even so, there was one aspect of the organizational system that very quickly became obvious: the further a book was from the front door, the more likely something was to disrupt an attempt to buy it. These disruptions ranged from an absurdly high price expressed in a defunct form of currency, excuses from the proprietor about the need to repair the volume or its being on hold for someone else, mysterious black-clad ladies muttering vaguely about the book being cursed, credit cards that mysteriously refused to function, or, in extreme cases, an extremely large snake dropping off the top of the shelf and hissing loudly. Retired demons also required an outlet for their naturally mischievous tendencies, after all 1.

Currently, though, Crowley was in human form, draped over the back room sofa like some sort of sexy throw-blanket. The demon had his earbuds in and his phone in hand, but there seemed to be a lot more snickering and groaning and quiet swearing involved than most musical options would elicit.

Finally, Aziraphale could no longer contain his curiosity. "My dear, what _are_ you listening to?"

The demon displayed the screen of his phone: _The Holy Bible, Revised Standard Edition_

The angel's eyebrows lifted. "Really?"

Crowley gave him a wicked grin. "Thought I should catch up. It doesn't hurt if I just listen to it, instead of trying to hold a physical book. Well, some bits do, but with this baby I can fast-forward through them. Never got more than a few snippets at a time before, from outdoor sermons and the like, plus general cultural knowledge. Hearing whole books at a time, just...wow."

Aziraphale grimaced. "I know. The general shape of the story is recognizable, but the details tend to go a bit wobbly, don't they?"

Crowley grunted. "You're telling me. Take this bit about the temptations of Yeshua - not that most of the translations even get his name right. I think someone might have pinched one of my reports to Downstairs."

The angel gave him a skeptical look. "I highly doubt that."

"Well, it sounds an awful lot more like what I _said_ rather than what I actually _did_. That whole thing with showing him the kingdoms of the world, for instance. And the nonsense about the bread. First off, who turns stones into bread? Stupid miracle - the loaves always turn out gritty. I teleported it in from the nearest bakery. Second, it wasn't a temptation."

"No?"

"No! He looked hungry; I didn't know he was on a diet." The demon waved a hand. "Well, you know, one of those religious diets that sound like you should be going somewhere when really you're just sitting around starving yourself."

"Fasting?" Aziraphale suggested.

"That's it! And then they go and misattribute everything to Satan, _like always_."

Aziraphale's mouth twitched; it didn't seem polite to laugh at this contradictory complaint. "So now you're on to Revelations, I suppose?"

"Nah, been jumping around a bit. I think I'll loop back to Genesis next. That should be fun. I started with our bit, of course, but I didn't finish the rest yet."

The angel smiled. "Mmm. Well, I suppose I'll leave you to it."

Aziraphale's attention was drawn back to the demon on the sofa when he uttered a particularly loud snort.

"Did you tell the author of this one I was an _angel_?" Crowley demanded, as soon as Aziraphale poked his head in the room to investigate.

"Which one, dear? I can't hear what you're listening to," the angel pointed out patiently.

"Genesis, chapter 19. I know you said you tried to set the record straight on what went down. But I'm a couple of verses in and things are already going wonky."

"Ah. Yes. I did try to make sure the written account resembled the true events more than the some of the versions that were going around. Not that it helped." The angel's expression had gone somewhere in between frustrated, angry, and resigned.

Crowley puffed out a sympathetic breath. "Uggh, I know. Bloody Sandalphon," he growled. The whole thing had been a shitshow, but the aftermath had probably been worse, just more drawn out. Those cities and their fate kept getting dragged out to justify the persecution of...well, in some times and places, really anyone into non-baby-making sex. But mostly gay people. And the occasional non-human assumed to fall into that category 2. The demon would have bet his fangs that a certain archangel was behind the widespread misinterpretation.

That wasn't what Crowley wanted to talk about, though. They'd talked _that_ to death over the last few millennia. He returned to the new point he'd noticed: "So, the _two angels_?"

Aziraphale blushed. "Well, it seems some of the humans involved made assumptions. And seemed better not to correct them, in case it...well, raised awkward questions."

The demon grinned. "Huh. Well, I _have_ to listen to the rest of this now. Not that I wouldn't have already. There's some good tension-building there, in the prior chapter. Did Abraham actually haggle with God on how many righteous men it would take to save a city from destruction?"

"More or less. With the Metatron, technically."

"Ballsy! I like it 3."

"Indeed. Though it would have been _helpful_ if my initial instructions had clearly pointed out that those were the stakes," the angel said tartly.

~~~

The demon Crawly had been dozing under a plane tree, escaping the excessive heat of the afternoon, when his occult senses suddenly pinged. _Angel._ Reflexively, he snapped to full consciousness. It wouldn't do to be caught napping by one's hereditary enemy, after all. Except...this ethereal signature was familiar, and very much welcome. He squinted up the road, and smiled as the pale, slightly plump figure with his crown of silver curls came into view. The angel had a very serious, purposeful expression at the moment, but the demon fancied he could change that.

"Hullo, Aziraphale!" he said, slinking out from under the tree to fall into step beside the angel.

"Crawly." The tone suggested a kind of wary annoyance, but demon knew he'd spotted a little eye twinkle and the beginning of a smile - quickly suppressed, but they'd been there all the same - that suggested the angel was actually pleased to see him.

"Fancy meeting you here! I thought you were off keeping an eye on that new prophet fellow. What was his name again? Abram?"

"Abraham. He changed it," Aziraphale clarified. "And I was. But now I'm supposed to be investigating the city where his nephew lives."

"Ooh, intriguing. What city? And why?" Crawly inquired curiously.

"Well, a twin pair of cities, technically. Sodom and Gomorrah. As to why, apparently the place is some kind of sink of depravity." He eyed the demon. "I don't suppose _you_ had anything to do with that?"

That question stung a little, which was weird. A demon ought to be pleased to be credited with such large-scale nefarious activity, but somehow he wasn't4. Crawly shrugged. "Don't think so. Last time I was here was about fifty years ago; just seemed like your standard small cities. Sounds promising, though."

The angel gave him a flat look. "Does it."

Crawly grinned at him. "Well, in my experience, a place doesn't get the title of 'sink of depravity' without throwing some great parties. Though I suppose you're here to put a stop to all that?"

"More to document it, really, and make a report."

They walked on for a bit. Aziraphale glanced sideways at the demon, who was sauntering along with an innocently cheerful expression. "Are you _following_ me?"

"Nope. Just have reason to go in the same direction, that's all5. Oh, look - I think that's Sodom up ahead now!"

They were, at that moment, walking through one of the extensive date groves that flourished in region, carefully irrigated by water from the streams that flowed from mount Moab. The city itself had a tall stone wall, topped with zig-zaggy battlements. In the center of the wall was a gate, flanked by two watchtowers.

Of course, such an imposing wall and gate wouldn't have been worth much without guards. This guard was a stocky man with a round-trimmed black beard poking out from under his bronze helmet. "And what is your purpose in visiting this city..." he looked them up and down before hazarding: "gentlemen?"

Crawly rolled his - currently glamour disguised - eyes. True, they both lacked the beards that males of their apparent age tended to grow in these parts. And his own red curls were a bit longer, his black robe marginally clingier, than was typical. But it wasn't as if either of them was actually _trying_ to be ambiguous at the moment.

"Business," Aziraphale said politely, at the same moment the demon acerbically hissed: "Pleasure."

"Right..." the guard replied slowly, as the two strangers glared at one another. He turned to Aziraphale. "Only, I notice you don't appear to have any luggage or trade goods with you."

The angel coughed. "Well, my visit is more for the purpose of...building business relationships, rather than actual trade, you see."

"A process I happen to take great pleasure in," the demon added helpfully.

The guard looked thoughtful. "Hmm. I think the prince would take great interest in you two. Wait here; Someone will escort you to the palace."

While Crawly was pondering what exactly _that_ meant, Aziraphale sighed elaborately and muttered under his breath: "Oh, I do _not_ have time for this right now."

The angel fixed the guard with a stern grey eye. When he spoke, his voice was deeper than usual, and it made Crawly's skin prickle. "On reflection, you are perfectly satisfied with our reasons for visiting your city. You will let us proceed on our way unimpeded."

The guard blinked. "Enjoy your visit, sir," he said, stepping aside.

" _Thank you_ ," Aziraphale replied in a normal, if slightly bitchy, voice, as he swept past.

Crawly picked his jaw off the floor and hurried after him.

He caught up with the angel just as the latter paused to consult a hand-drawn map on a bit of hide.

"I didn't know you could do that!" Crawly exclaimed. There was something weirdly exhilarating in watching the angel draw on his more extreme celestial powers.

The angel blinked at him. "Of course I can. Can't you?"

"Yeah, sort of, but I guess I meant..." He waved his long hands vaguely. "I wouldn't think it would be allowed. Demons mess with people's heads and puppet them with possessions and whatnot, but that's mostly for fun or the shock value. It's not like it _counts_ 6."

Aziraphale looked slightly embarrassed. "Ah. Well, it's not exactly encouraged, and I try not to do it if I can help it. But since this mission was given such high priority, I dare say Gabriel will understand."

Crawly decided not to comment on this. "Mmm. Well, now that we're in...Want to go get a drink?"

The angel gave a long-suffering sigh. "Crawly, what did I _just say_ about having an important mission? Besides, I'm supposed to meet up with Abraham's nephew."

"You _said_ you were supposed to document debauchery, angel," the demon pointed out. "Places that serve alcohol tend to be good for that, you know." A thought struck him. "Ooh, tell you what. Last time I was here, I found this little tavern that served the best drinks, with fermented dates and crushed lemongrass. You'd love them - I know how fond you are of sweet things. So why don't you say hi to your targets - or, um, blessings recipients, whatever you call them - and then we can go see if it's still in business, hmm? You can make as many notes as you like. My treat."

The angel appeared to consider this. "Fine. But no trying to distract me with your wiles."

Crawly gasped theatrically. "Heaven forbid, angel."

"It _does_ ," Aziraphale huffed, as he folded his map away. "That is exactly my point."

The angel's map led them relatively quickly through the maze of flat-roofed buildings and across the broad plaza that stood between the palace and the temple to Lot's place. The house itself was a prosperous-looking one, moderately large and freshly painted.

Aziraphale knocked on the door. He smiled pleasantly at the middle aged man who answered. "Hello. So sorry to bother you. My name is Aziraphale. I'm in town for a few days, and your Uncle Abraham said I should look you up."

The man brightened. "Ah, please, sir, come in! I will bring you water to wash your feet, and will tell my wife to prepare us food."

"That's very kind of you. I have some business to attend to in the afternoon, but perhaps I might return this evening?"

Lot nodded. "Oh yes, you must! And when you do, we will have a feast prepared, and my wife and I will make space so that you and your companion may have our room." He nodded at the demon who was slouching impatiently off to one side.

Crawly froze. The man almost certainly didn't mean it like _that_ , of course. Proper bedrooms were rather scarce, and it wasn't uncommon for complete strangers to share when traveling, with nothing in particular implied. But still. He glanced over at the angel to see how he would react.

Aziraphale also looked somewhat flustered. "Oh! That's very kind of you, but really not necessary. You see..."

"Actually," Crawly interrupted, before the angel could make some awkward attempt to explain who Crawly was or why they were sort-of-but-not-really traveling together, "maybe I'll find somewhere else to stay. Wouldn't want to inconvenience you. There's gotta be an inn or something around here. And it's going to be a fine night. I might even just stretch out on those steps in the main square and look at the stars."

"No!" Lot barked out suddenly. "That is," he amended, when the visitors looked at him quizzically, "Sirs, I beg that you will both accept my hospitality. This city is not always friendly to foreigners and, as a foreigner myself I feel it my duty to amend that."

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "Ah. Well, we shall certainly bear that in mind. I am sure my companion appreciates your welcome. But, whatever he decides, I will certainly come by this evening myself."

"Um, yeah. Thanks," the demon muttered. He wasn't quite sure what to say as Aziraphale turned away from the house. "Er, listen, angel..."

"Oh, let's not bother about that right now," Aziraphale interrupted. "Where's that tavern you mentioned?"

Crawly brightened up. "Oh, yeah. This way, I think."

As he led the way back toward the main square, he turned the conversation over in his mind. While he was prone to get stuck on Lot's offer - given how well it fit some recent thoughts about how warm and soft the angel might be to coil up on, the demon could almost fancy _he_ was the one being tempted for once - another aspect seemed worthy of note. "Did you notice how that fellow yelped when I suggested I might rough it?"

"It would be perceived as a slight on his offer to play host, if you were to do that."

Crawly waggled his head speculatively. "Yeah, sure. But I thought I sensed fear. Just for a moment, but it was there."

"Maybe the city guard is rather harsh on vagrancy?" the angel suggested. "I _was_ told that bad treatment of the poor and of strangers were among the complaints against the place."

"Hmm. Could be, I suppose. Ah, here we are!"

The tavern still stood on the corner of the plaza, though it was slightly shabbier looking than the demon remembered. Crawly swaggered up to the bartender. "Hi. We'll have two...what do you call those lemongrass-date drinks?"

The bartender blinked at him. Then comprehension dawned. "Oh! Yes, my grandfather said he used to sell a lot of those."

"Right. Good," the demon grunted. "Did he tell you how to make them?"

"Yes. But I'm afraid we're out of lemongrass. We do have a pomegranate mead that is very popular."

The angel had seated himself on a bench outside the tavern by the time Crawly emerged with two cups of the shockingly pink beverage. The demon slid onto the seat beside him and handed one over. "Here we are! Refreshments for debauchery watching. Although..." He glanced out at the square. There didn't seem to be more than fifteen people at a time in it, most of them just passing through. The few women he could see seemed more extensively draped-up than he remembered, wearing rather shapeless cloaks and veils that hid most of their face. There was no one but them in the tavern, either. "Seems weirdly quiet, for a place with a supposedly scandalous reputation." Of course, it was early afternoon, and still rather hot. Perhaps the people around here liked to take a siesta?

"Hey, barkeep!" the demon called.

The bartender leaned out the door. "Yes, sir?"

"Where the heaven is everyone?"

The fellow looked nervous. "Oh, well. The prince is having one of his...events, tonight."

"Events? Like a party?"

"After a fashion." The bartender's voice was tight.

Odd. Normally royal parties and festivals tended to spill over a bit and spawn more parties in the streets. Still... Crawly nudged Aziraphale. "Hey, angel. Maybe _that's_ where we should go."

"Oh, no, sir!" the bartender said hurriedly. "That is...I would not advise any traveler to seek out Prince Keret. Indeed, it would be best to be inside before sunset. Especially given..." He trailed off.

Crawly frowned. "Given what?"

"Well, please forgive me for saying so, but given that you look a bit... Oh, Chemosh preserve us! That's him!"

The bartender ducked back inside. Crawly turned back toward the square. Four horsemen were crossing the plaza. The man at their head, a tall fellow in gilded scale armor, seemed to be staring at them. The demon's eyes narrowed, and he glared right back. The prince blinked first - a snake will always win a staring contest - and turned his horse toward the palace. His attendants followed.

"Well, that was weird," Crawly commented, turning back to his ethereal companion. "Still, I think we can take a wild guess at where some of that reported debauchery is happening. Not that palaces aren't a good place to look for that sort of thing in general."

"Yes, I expect so," the angel sighed.

Aziraphale took a sip of the pomegranate mead, and for a moment Crawly got the pleased hum and twinkly-eyed look he'd been hoping for. But it didn't last long. The angel seemed preoccupied.

"Is there something else going on you haven't told me?" the demon inquired.

"Eh?"

"You seem more worried than I would expect if your only mission was to go witness some wicked deeds and report back about exactly how wicked they are."

The angel sighed. "Well, that's just it. Those were my _original_ orders. But when I was halfway down the road the Archangel Sandalphon just popped up in front of me and told me to try and identify ten righteous men in the two cities."

Crawly frowned. "Why? Do they win a prize or something?"

"That's just it. He didn't say. But, reading between the lines, as it were, I suspect it has to do with showing there is still good in the city."

The demon's stomach clenched. _No. Not again._ He licked his lips. "Uh, angel? Is that 'no more massive floods' thing still in effect?"

"Yes, I believe it...Oh!" the angel's face grew paler than usual. "Oh, you don't think...No, surely not!"

"I wouldn't put it past Her. Even if your pals don't have a flood in mind, there's more than one way to destroy a city. I suggest we start looking for those ten righteous men right away."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "We?"

"Well, having a sink of depravity wiped off the face of the earth would hardly be a win for my side, would it? And I know you don't like hurting innocents." The word " _either_ " went unspoken but he suspected the angel knew it was there.

He drummed his nails on the back of the bench. "Tell you what - How about if I work a bunch of moderate temptations while you take notes?"

The angel frowned. "What? No!"

"Come on, it's perfect," Crawly wheedled. "If they succumb, I get to take credit. If they don't, you can add them to your list. I mean, how do you identify the righteous other than seeing how someone responds to a moral choice?"

"Hmm. There is that..." Aziraphale conceded.

"Just to be clear, though, are we specifically looking for ten righteous _men_ , or would not-male people count too?"

Aziraphale frowned. "I'm not sure, actually. Sandalphon gave very little explanation for the whole thing."

"All right. We'll start with the men, then, and skip over anyone who looks too easy. No pickpockets or drunkards or anything. That would just be a waste of time in this case. No, what we _want_ is apparently upstanding citizens. Can you sense virtues?"

"If I concentrate."

Crawly nodded. "Good, that'll help narrow it down a bit."

As he'd expounded on this plan, and the angel gradually warmed to it, Crawly had eyes for nothing but Aziraphale. To see the worry lines smooth out, and hope return to those storm-colored eyes because of _his_ idea made Crawly's scarred demonic heart swell.

Perhaps it was for this reason that he didn't pay much attention to the approaching humans, until one of them said in honeyed tones: "Well, and what brings such a charming pair of foreigners to our humble city?"

"Fuck off, we're busy," the demon snapped, annoyed at the interruption.

" _Language_ , dear boy," Aziraphale chided.

The demon sighed and took a closer look at the humans. He thought he recognized two of the horsemen who had passed by with the prince earlier. "Fine. What do you want, _gentlemen_?"

The one on the left smiled, an odd, predatory-looking smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Our prince has requested your presence at his festivities this evening. He is a great connoisseur of the exotic and the beautiful, you see."

"That's frightfully kind of him, but I'm afraid we have other plans," Aziraphale replied firmly.

"Surely the invitation of a prince should take precedence," the one on the right argued. He leaned in closer toward the angel. "Why, King Birsha of Gomorrah will be in attendance as well. He would be most captivated by one of such pale, moonlike loveliness."

Crawly planted a hand on the man's chest and shoved. While he was tempted to send the fellow flying across the square for his impertinence, the demon squashed that impulse and merely set him rocking back on his heels, out of the angel's personal space. "Back off, bub. He said no."

"Ah, don't be jealous, my friend," the other chuckled. "Prince Keret expressed a particular interest in you, 'the one with the hair of flame'. He appreciates style and spirit. If you would come, you would find yourselves well rewarded. Everyone would be most pleased to meet you both."

Crawly sniffed, and his eyes narrowed. These two were absolutely dripping with Lust. And not in the fun sense in which humans often used the word. No, this was the real dark stuff, the kind that is more about exercising power over another person than any other sort of pleasure. "Let me return to my first point: Fuck. Off."

He put a bit of demonic resonance behind the words. Not so much that they would try to take the command literally - _that_ would be awkward - but enough so that they should feel the intent in their bones, and their feet would carry them back to the palace without asking for their brains' input.

So it was a bit of a surprise when the first man simply glared back. "You, as guests in our city, would reject our lord's request?"

"Yep."

"You will regret that, stranger," the other said ominously.

The demon snorted. "We'll see. Gotta say, though: not likely to be top of my list of regrettable choices. Now go tell your prince we said 'Thanks, but no thanks'."

"Rather pushy, weren't they?" the angel commented, as the prince's attendants departed. There was a slight wobble in his voice that suggested he'd picked up most of the subtext of that conversation, even if he couldn't sense vice directly. "Perhaps we should go, ah, conduct those experiments elsewhere?"

"Definitely. How about we hop over to Gomorrah for a few hours?"

A look of relief crossed the angel's face. "Yes. What an _excellent_ idea."

"Maybe you should go ahead and add our bartender friend to your list? He did try to warn us about those wankers, even though he's clearly scared of them."

Crawly considered asking the man what he had been about to say about how he and the angel _looked_. But given their recent conversation, he thought he could make a guess. _Exotic_ , as the prince's flunky had said. _Effeminate_ , maybe, as the gate guard had hinted. Perhaps even _effete_. All perfectly fine, as far as Crawly was concerned 7, but some humans lately did seem keen to make a _thing_ out of it.

Aziraphale drained his cup. "Good point. One down, nine to go."

After two hours, Aziraphale pause to consult their list, which he'd scawled on the back of his map.

"How are we doing, angel?" The demon inquired. Though the streets of Gomorrah had not been quite as empty as those of her sister city, this was still taking a lot longer than he would have liked.

"So far we've got two for sure: the helpful bartender, and that merchant who gave you your money back when you 'accidentally' overpaid."

"What about that widow who runs the orphanage for street urchins?" Crawly asked. He'd been rather impressed at the operation, though slightly concerned that she'd apparently considered it necessary to turn her home into something of a fortress, with metal grill-work on the windows and a very sturdy bar across the inside of the door.

" _If_ women count, yes, that would be three," Aziraphale agreed.

Crawly brightened. "Ah! Speaking of which, that gives me an idea..."

Ten minutes later, a pair of Gomorrese potters taking a shortcut down a narrow side-street happened upon a woman dithering at an intersection. With that pale skin, long copper curls, and curve-hugging black robe, she was obviously a foreigner. She turned to them with wide golden-brown eyes. "Ah! Can you help me? I'm trying to find the square of the cedars, but I've gotten terribly turned around." She fluttered her lashes prettily.

"Of course, ma'am," one of them replied. "This way."

The woman's hips moved like they had a mind of their own as she sashayed down the alley in front of them.

"Oh, thank you!" she said breathily, peeking at them over her shoulder. "How _can_ I ever repay you?"

"It's no trouble," the other man said. "See: We're here already. Was there somewhere in particular you were wanting to go?"

The woman shook her head. "No, no. I just meant to meet my husband. Yoohoo! Darling!" she cried.

A foreign man, as pale as she but shorter and plumper with silver curls, spotted them and hurried over. "There you are, my dear! Where _have_ you been?"

"I got a teensy bit lost, darling, but these gentlemen here were _very good_ and helped me out."

The round-faced man beamed at them. "Thanks ever so much, my dear chaps."

"As I said to your wife, it was no trouble. But," one of the potters said, leaning in and lowering his voice. "It would not be wise to let her wander so again. A pretty woman alone, her face all uncovered...well, some might make assumptions. I would not wish to see such a charming creature come to grief in our city."

The foreigner nodded. "Ah. Well, your concern is noted. Good day to you both."

As they rounded a corner, Crawly shifted back to his male form. "There you are, angel. You can add those two to your list."

"Are you sure? That last bit seemed almost like a threat."

Crawly nodded. "I think so. I was being about as tempting as I thought I could get away with. And it was working - I could smell it - but they kept their hands to themselves, refrained from ogling or making any impolite comments, and took me straight to my destination. Ordinarily that's the bare minimum, of course, but given what the leadership around here is like, it counts for more. Didn't smell any other strong vices on them, either. Their 'helpful advice' _was_ a bit patronizing, but then I _did_ play up the helpless damsel thing quite a lot. And if it is considered not safe to wander around at night in _this_ shape..."

Aziraphale added two checkmarks to his list. "Noted. Well, we're halfway there, then, assuming we can count either Lot or the widow."

The angel and demon were debating whether to keep going in Gomorrah, or to loop back toward Sodom, when they were approached by five men in bronze breastplates. Crawly hissed under his breath as he recognized Prince Keret's two henchmen among them.

"We wondered where you'd run off to," one of them said lazily. "Not that you were hard to find. You do rather stand out in a crowd. Most everyone remembers the pretty, beardless foreigners with the unusual hair."

Crawly crossed his arms and glared at them. "Yeah, yeah. Very clever of you. We're still not going to your party, or orgy, or whatever it is, though."

One of the men tutted. "Really, our prince will be so disappointed. Perhaps we should compel you to join us."

Crawly felt his fangs lengthen reflexively, and his wings twitched within the pocket dimension that hid them, aching to be unfurled. "You can bloody well try."

His inner demon self thrilled at the thought of being unleashed. Puny humans. As if they had any hope of compelling an occult being, or an ethereal one for that matter, to do _anything_ without some kind of magical assistance!

Then he glanced over at the angel. Aziraphale did not appear to be preparing to fight. He just looked anxious. _Oh, right._ Bringing out the wings and claws and halos and such in a public area in broad daylight was likely to draw far more attention than they wanted. Mess with the experimental conditions too much.

The demon relaxed his posture slightly. "Tell you what. I'll go to your little shindig. Just let me see my friend home first. It doesn't seem like his sort of scene."

The angel caught his arm. "Crawly, what are you doing?" Aziraphale hissed into his ear.

"I want to see Prince Whatsit's face when I ssspit hellfire on his dick. And the rest of hisss bloody palace," the demon hissed back.

"No! Heaven is watching more closely than usual. If you do anything spectacularly demonic..."

Crawly gave a sigh of exasperation. Of course. It wasn't just human observers that were a problem, was it? _Bless it._

"Oh, I'm afraid that won't do," one of the men they didn't recognize said. "Our king has specifically requested to meet the pale-haired foreigner."

"Your _king_ can blow me," the demon growled.

"You'll have to wait your turn. King Birsha prefers something...softer. As an appetizer." The man gave Aziraphale a salaciously speculative look. "But don't fret. I dare say Prince Keret will find a use for you in the mean time."

The angel drew himself up. "Look here. I think we have been _quite clear_ that we are not interested. So GO AWAY AND LEAVE US ALONE."

The ethereal resonance on that command was strong enough that it made Crawly's teeth ache. And yet, once again, the humans didn't appear to notice.

"That's a shame," one of the men said. "I'd hate to have to deliver you with that tempting-looking skin all bruised. But..."

Crawly clicked his fingers, and just as the men started to step forward they went rigid. So did the birds in the sky, who simply hung there as if on strings, and the laundry strung across the alleyways that had been rippling in the wind, petrified mid-flap.

He turned to the angel. "We should go. A time-freeze like that only holds for so long 8."

Aziraphale, still looking rather surprised, nodded. "Excellent notion, dear boy. After you."

Time kicked back into motion as they reached Sodom. They ran into Lot near the southern gate of the city. He looked slightly anxious, but he smiled as he saw them. "Ah, good! I hoped I might find you. And that you might both have decided to take me up on my former offer?"

"Indeed, dear chap," Aziraphale replied. "That sounds like a splendid idea."

Their host brought water so that his guests might wash their hands and feet. Lot's wife, a local woman named Donatiya, and his teenage daughters Ibirya and Danela, served up a fine spread of roast goat, garlic hummus, warm flatbreads, and dates stuffed with almonds and honey. It was a shame that both visitors were too distracted to fully enjoy this hospitality.

"Is your portion too tough?" Donatiya inquired solicitously, as Crawly picked at his meat.

"What? No, 's great. It's just...this place has gone a bit weird, hasn't it?"

Their hostess nodded sadly. "That it has, sir. Why, when I was a girl, this city was the shining jewel of the plain. Visitors came from far and wide, to trade or just to visit the temple or dance in the festivals. And my friends and I never hesitated to play in the streets, unsupervised."

"So what happened?" Aziraphale asked.

"Well, there was a war, you see. And our king was injured, and the king of Gomorrah was killed. Their sons..." she glanced at her husband, and stopped. "But I should not speak ill of our prince."

Crawly snorted. "Don't worry. We've had a taste of what he and his flunkies are like."

Their hosts looked alarmed, but before they could ask what the demon meant, there came a heavy knock that made the two girls jump. Lot motioned everyone to stay seated, and opened a hinged portal in the upper panel of the door.

"Yes, sir?"

"We are looking for two foreigners: one tall with long rust-colored hair, the other round with short hair like silver."

"I'm afraid I can't help you," Lot replied.

"No? They were last seen in your company."

"I can't think who would be telling tales like that."

"Perhaps I ought to search your home."

"With my wife and daughters at their leisure, and all unveiled? It would be indecent. You ought to do a proper search before you go bothering law-abiding folk like this. Good evening to you, sir." Lot banged shut the portal, and locked it.

 _Interesting_ , Crowley thought. _Not one actual lie in that whole act._ It was rather impressive. He wondered if the angel did something like that when it came time to submit his reports.

Lot's face was painted with a mixture of indignation at the situation, elation at his own defiance, and anxiety at what it might mean. Donatiya rubbed his shoulder soothingly. "You did right, husband."

"Look here, though," Aziraphale said, "It isn't right that we should be putting you in danger like this. Perhaps we should find somewhere outside the city to stay."

"No, my good sirs. I have taken on the role of host, and I will execute it," Lot replied stubbornly. "Someone needs to say no to those royal bastards. They have no respect for anyone, and they do not fear even their own gods. Their fathers handed out alms to the poor, as is right and proper, but these two, and the pack of wild dogs they call courtiers, hunt them through the streets. And whether it ends in whipping, murder, or some licentious villainy depends only on their mood. When it comes to treatment of travelers they are nearly as dissolute. A rich merchant with his caravan will go unmolested. But anyone else? The prince and his followers think they have a right to anything they might want from them. I tell you, it is a disgrace, and it will be the ruin of these cities."

"No argument there." Crawly sniffed, and his brow furrowed. "Is there a way up onto the roof?"

Aziraphale followed him up the stairs their host had indicated. "What are you doing?"

Crawly lifted the hatch. "Having a look around. If you are going to come up here, ssstay low." Living up to his name, he slithered toward the edge of the roof on his belly.

Ordinarily, Aziraphale's awkward attempt to imitate the motion would have had Crawly snorting with laughter. But at the moment his eyes and his mind were elsewhere. "There. You see?" There was an armored man on each of the nearest street corners, watching the house.

"Oh, bother. And apparently we can't just order them to leave and forget all about us." The angel frowned. "Why is that, do you think?"

Crawly thought again about the smell he had detected on the prince's henchmen. The scent of their own vice had nearly drowned it out, but...had there been a whiff of brimstone as well? He clenched his jaw. "I might have an idea."

He made his way back down into the house, and found Donatiya. "I need to use your kitchen. Privately."

Once he was sure that all humans had vacated the room, Crawly waved a hand to dampen any sounds that might emerge. Then he leaned over the hearth and hissed some words in a very old language. The fire blazed up, and a demonic voice spoke from the flames:

"Hell, tempter agent headquarters. How may we be of disservice?"

"This is Crawly. I need to talk to whoever has been working on the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah."

"I'll need to pull up the file. Hold." The demon's voice was replaced by the distant sounds of screams for about five minutes, before she spoke again: "Hmm. That would be Ornias."

"Great. Fantastic. Can you put him on?"

"Let me see."

Crawly tapped his foot impatiently as the wailing of the damned returned for another ten minutes.

Eventually the flames shaped themselves into the likeness of a face with a lion-like mane of hair. "Ah, Serpent. Visiting my little cities, eh?"

"Yep. Have to ask, though...what _exactly_ did you do to the royals and their courtiers? Anything I should know about?"

Ormias's image shrugged. "Standard soul contract, really. I made sure Birsha's dad caught an arrow in the last war. Prince Keret's father didn't die, but he was crippled and put out of commission for ruling. In return for the power to give their vices free reign during life...well, you know the drill."

"Are you sure there wasn't anything else? Any special protections?"

"Oh, wait! I remember now." Ornias chuckled to himself. "Those two were so spectacularly vice-filled that I knew heaven would take notice sooner or later. And it struck me...a lot of angels would be _exactly_ their type. Not the Archangels, obviously. But the other ones that come to earth are either all high-cheekboned dignity and flash, or soft and approachable, but either way smooth-cheeked and kind of...what's the word? _Anyway,_ I added a charm that makes them and their followers immune to ethereal commands. I mean, can you imagine? Some angel shows up to investigate or lay down the law, Keret and Birsha start drooling over them, the angel tells them off...and they _don't go_. 'Heavens! Unhand me, you brutes!' Course, once they got their head together they would put an end to my little project with some righteous smiting. But oh, man, it would be worth it, wouldn't it?"

Crawly ground his teeth. "Yeah, hilarious. But did you have to make it so demonic commands don't work either?"

Ornias smirked. "What's the matter, Crawly? Things getting a bit rougher than you fancy?"

"Not at the moment. But the relentless horniness around here is bloody annoying if you're trying to do _any other type of temptation_. And, right now, I can't do anything flashy without bringing an archangel or two down on my ass - they're keeping pretty close watch on this place. So if you could maybe adjust that feature for a few hours..."

"A contract is a contract, Crawly. You know that. Besides, I'm sure that silver tongue of yours will help you sort it out. One way or another, anyway."

The other demon's face vanished, and Crawly found himself snarling at an ordinary cooking fire.

As he stepped back into the main room, Crawly was suddenly reminded that his sound-muffling miracle worked both ways. There was quite a bit of yelling coming from outside. Much of it was rather incoherent - the kind of "Whoo! Yeah!" shouting that one expects at a sporting match. But _what_ the crowd was cheering seemed to be rather explicit statements about what certain members of said crowd intended to do with various bits of the "foreigners'" corporations. Or what they would like to make them do with each other, or with various other people, animals, or objects. Crawly guessed the current speaker was King Birsha, as the stream of filthy suggestions seemed to heavily feature both royal imagery and the angel's "pretty, pretty mouth." Which, _yes_ , was an accurate observation; but if a literal demon could refrain from mentioning this feature _at all_ for over two thousand years, some random asshole did _not_ have the right to comment. Speaking of which, after another bout of cheering, another voice - Prince Keret's, Crawly suspected - decided to start expounding on how much he liked "taming a fiery spirit", and how the demon's spare but swishy rear might be involved in this process. This seemed to get the crowd quite worked up, as several others threw in suggestions before things devolved into general whoops and shouting.

"Is that last thing they mentioned even physically possible?" the angel inquired queasily, as Crawly sat down beside him.

The demon grunted. "From what I've observed...not without a good deal of practice and about a bucket of olive oil. Which I doubt this lot would be considerate enough to provide."

"This is really all _very_ inappropriate."

"Masterful understatement, as always, angel." Crawly leaned closer and lowered his voice. "You know, you don't have to sit here and listen to this. We _could_ just..." He made a 'poof' gesture with his fingers.

"You aren't suggesting we leave _them_ to deal with this are you?" Aziraphale jerked his chin toward Lot's family. The two girls were trembling, and all of them had gone an unhealthy shade of grey.

"We could take them with us."

"Oh? And have you ever 'poofed' a human before?"

"Well, no," Crawly admitted, "But I've carried other stuff. I'm fairly confident I could rematerialize them in the right shape."

The angel huffed. "Forgive me if I don't want to experiment with that right now!"

"Fine. We could fly. That roof's a perfect launch point, and none of them are too big to carry, provided they don't go into a total panic when they see our wings."

Aziraphale sighed. "The thing is, if we do that...the city's trial is probably over. And we don't have those ten names yet."

While they had been discussing these options, Lot had gotten to his feet and climbed up to an upper window with a determined expression.

He cleared his throat and called out to the crowd: "Good sirs! If you will leave my guests in peace, I..." His voice cracked, but he rallied. "I will send out to you my...my two virgin daughters..."

Crawly yanked him down from the window rather roughly. "Hey! What the _heaven_ do you think you're doing? You can't send your kids out there!"

The girls were clutching at each other and sobbing in the corner.

"But, sir," Lot protested, looking miserable, "To allow you or your companion to be injured would be a violation of guest right, and my duties as a host."

The demon pinched the bridge of his nose and puffed out a breath, trying to control his temper. He was aware that hospitality was considered an extremely high-level virtue by these people. He just hadn't realized quite _how_ high. "Right, fine. You get your host of the year award. Just _don't actually do that_. The only reason we're sitting in here instead of making those wankers out there regret they were ever born is that my friend doesn't want to cause a scene. So just chill, all right?"

Aziraphale stood. "Actually, I think it is about time that I dealt with this situation." The angel swallowed. "You had all better stay down here."

"Angel, what are you going to do?" Crawly whispered, trailing after Aziraphale as he climbed the stairs to the roof.

"Some hopefully strategic smiting. You had better hang back, my dear. I need to concentrate, and I don't want to burn you."

So Crawly watched out of the hatch door as Aziraphale walked out to the edge of the roof. He heard raucous shouts and hoots from the crowd below, which turned to gasps and exclamations of surprise as the angel unfurled his wings and raised a hand to the suddenly swirling clouds. Aziraphale glowed as if with a cold fire. It was hard for any eyes, especially a demon's, to look right at him now, but Crawly couldn't turn away 9. He saw the angel take a deep breath, and then fling his hand downward toward the crowd. As he did so, a thunderbolt sprung from the clouds, following the arc of his arm to strike street below with a deafening boom. And then the clouds dispersed and the glow faded, leaving only the familiar, fussy figure of the angel standing on the roof.

Crawly hurried over. "Holy fuck." He peered over the edge. The bolt seemed to have struck right at Prince Keret's feet; he lay sprawled out next to the scorch mark, stone dead. Most of the others had been knocked off their feet, but the groans suggested they were alive. A burly man in a golden robe that Crawly took to be King Birsha was wailing: "My eyes! I can't see!" Several others were shaking their heads or blinking in a terrified way that suggested their ears and eyes had been affected by the blast as well.

Crawly felt Aziraphale shiver next to him. "You all right, angel?"

"I...Yes. I don't like doing that, you know."

"Yeah, angel. I know."

There was a dark blur in his peripheral vision, and Crawly realized he had manifested his wings. Much as angel had once raised a wing to shelter him from the first rain, the demon's right wing stretched out behind Aziraphale as if it would wrap around the angel like a blanket. _But_ \- he paused - _that would be a bit weird, right?_ Embracing, whether with arms or wings, wasn't something they _did_. You didn't hug your adversary, for Satan's sake!

Before he could formulate an explanation for why he was holding his wing out that way, a gasp issued from the hatch behind them. They whirled around, wings flaring, to find Lot bowing down on the rooftop, his wife staring at them open-mouthed from the doorway.

"My Lords!" their host exclaimed.

"Messengers of the gods," Donatiya whispered.

"Uhh..." Crawly glanced sideways at the angel.

"Everyone inside! We can explain later," Aziraphale said firmly.

~~

Crowley paused the audiobook at Genesis 19:11. "I remember now! We never did correct that misunderstanding, did we?"

Aziraphale sighed, and sat down at the end of the sofa. "Yes, well, things got a bit hectic, after that."

"Mmm. Not that there's ever a good time to go: 'Oh, by the way, my friend here is actually a demon. But he's helping right now. Best if you don't mention that to anyone', eh?" He pressed 'play' again.

~~

Though they had folded away their wings again as they came inside, the humans were still staring at them with a mix of awe and terror.

"My uncle Abraham told me that he has been visited by messengers of the Lord El," Lot said, "Are you the same?"

"Well, one of them," Aziraphale replied. "As I mentioned, it was your uncle who suggested looking in on you. But...Oh, _shawarma_ 10."

A candle sitting on the low table had flared into life by itself.

"I need a room I can use privately," the angel said to their hosts. "And more candles, if you have them."

As Aziraphale disappeared into the bedroom, Crawly turned to Lot and Donatiya. "Listen. I'm still hoping we can turn things, but there is a good chance that once heaven finds out what's been going on, this place is fucked. And, either way, it might be a good idea for you all to get out of town for a bit. Is there somewhere you can go?"

Lot thought about this for a while. "There's a little town called Zoar down the road. Would that be far enough?"

"Not sure," Crawly admitted. "But it would probably do as a stopover, at least."

"But what's going to happen to Sodom?" Danela asked.

The demon pursed his lips. "Well, the last time I saw heaven this pissed, they drowned everyone. That's unlikely to happen again but setting the place on fire with more of that lightning-tossing, for example, isn't out the question."

The three women gasped.

"Mother, what about Paebel!" Ibirya cried, her dark eyes wide and anxious.

"Nothing says you can't go warn anyone you care about to skip town too," Crowley said. _Not until the angel gets back with new orders, anyway._

Lot glanced out the window. "The street seems to be clear. Don't be alarmed, daughter. I will speak to the family of your intended. Yassib's too, Danela," he added, though the younger daughter had not exhibited any spontaneous concern about her fiance. "Wife, I don't know if your parents would come away, but..."

"Oh, you must try!" Donatiya cried, wringing her hands. "I know they are set in their ways, but tell them I beg them to trust us and come away. And my sister too."

Lot frowned unhappily. "My dear. Her husband is a palace guard. If I tell them..."

A tear ran down Donatiya's face but she nodded. "I...I understand."

It was a moving scene, but it didn't do to linger. "Right then. You - get going with the persuading. You lot - start packing. No more than you can carry."

~~~

"Aziraphale." The Archangel Sandalphon's voice echoed sternly out of the column of bluish light. "You are meant to be observing the humans, not beginning their destruction."

"Yes, quite right," Aziraphale agreed quickly, "And I will certainly get back to those observations first thing in the morning. W... _I_ was doing quite well, actually. Located five righteous men just this afternoon, and more than that, of course, if you didn't mean _men_ , exclusively..."

"Then _why_ did you smite one of them?"

"Ah." Aziraphale cleared his throat. "Well, you see, it appears that there has been some demonic interference. Most of the ordinary people seem quite, well, ordinary. But the rulers and their courtiers are rather awful, and they unfortunately became rather fixated on me. They had been trying to get into Lot's house just before the...incident. And I know you said how important it was to protect Lot and his family."

If a disembodied voice could frown in confusion, Sandalphon's did. "What do you mean, _fixated on you_? Why were they trying to harm Lot's family?"

Aziraphale coughed. "Er. Well. It is a bit embarrassing. They seemed to be quite keen to get me to join some sort of, of orgy, or something."

"Urrgh. But why didn't you command them to go on their way, as you did to the guard on the gate? For much more frivolous reasons, I might add."

"I _did_ , but you know that demonic interference I mentioned? Apparently members of both courts are immune to suggestion. And they are _extremely_ persistent."

"Hmm. And you smote Prince Keret specifically, because...?"

"Well, as I said, members of both courts had surrounded the house. They were being _quite_ aggressive, and I feared they would do harm to my hosts or prevent me from completing my mission. I did not particularly intend to kill anyone, but there was a gap in the crowd near the prince and it seemed worth the risk. Especially considering he was being _extremely_ inappropriate about..." The angel coughed again. "Well. Extremely inappropriate. He appeared to be the primary ringleader."

Sandalphon appeared to be considering this. "When you say _inappropriate_..."

Aziraphale grimaced. He didn't particularly care to repeat anything that had been said. "Quite lewd. And not at all respecting of consent."

"WHAT?" Sandalphon thundered. "They were truly threatening to impose their vile lusts on your angelic form?"

"Not my _angelic_ form, strictly speaking - I am pretending to be human, if you recall," Aziraphale pointed out. "And, according to Lot, many visitors to the city face the same threat."

"What blasphemous, abominable conduct! And you are in male form too, aren't you?!"

Sandalphon seemed to be getting worryingly worked up. "Well, I scarcely see how _that_ is relevant. And it isn't as if the women around here feel particularly safe around that crew either," the angel pointed out reasonably.

"This insult cannot stand! These miscreants will truly come to know the wrath of God!"

The hairs prickled on the back of Aziraphale's neck, but he tried to speak soothingly: "Prince Keret already did, and the others got a jolly good warning. That's what you called me about, isn't it? So what if I just continue my mission tomorrow? And then we can see if they've been moved to repentance?"

~~~

Crawly had nearly finished helping Donatiya and the girls with their packing when Aziraphale re-emerged. His face looked ashen.

"Angel? What's wrong?"

Aziraphale swallowed. "Best get moving. We have until dawn."

Donatiya frowned. "What happens at dawn?"

"Judgment," the angel said flatly. "Judgment will rain down from the sky."

At that moment, Lot walked in the door. He looked at his wife and daughters' hopeful, terrified faces, and shook his head. "I'm sorry, my dears. None of them would come."

"What? No! Father, you must go back! You must make them!" Ibirya cried. "Or take me with you! I'm sure I can convince Paebel..."

"What about Anathiya?" Danela cried, suddenly as anxious as her sister. "Yassib and his parents are fools, but she...father, I won't leave her!"

"I should have gone to my parents myself," Donatiya said, wringing her hands, "Perhaps then they would listen..."

"There is no time," Aziraphale said wearily. "If you are not out of the city at dawn, you will all be destroyed along with it."

"Oh, well _that_ was sssmoothly done," Crawly hissed, as the humans continued to weep and wail.

Aziraphale shook his head. "I tried, you know. I argued - more than I've ever dared argue before. Because I _know_ there are at least ten good people here; we found nearly that many in a single afternoon. Sandalphon didn't listen. At dawn tomorrow, these cities will perish in fire and brimstone. I can't stop it. But we can save these, at least."

"We?"

The angel's stormy grey eyes gazed at him imploringly. "Crawly. I know... When the Flood came, you..11. Just - _please_."

Crawly sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Uggh. _Fine_." It wouldn't do, after all, to admit how utterly powerless he felt to resist that look.

Aziraphale stood up. "Everyone, please - be at peace." There was a very light touch of suggestion in those words, and the humans stilled. "Right, then. My, er, colleague here will see to it that you get to safety. I will stay behind a little longer to see if I can convince your in-laws or any other worthy folk to flee as well. What do you say?"

The family still looked reluctant. Crawly sighed. He took Lot's hand, and Danela's. "Come on. Let's get out of here." He, too, added a touch of suggestion to the words. Finally, the humans began to move.

"Don't look back," Aziraphale said firmly. "That is vitally important. Until you are in Zoar, _don't look back_."

The pre-dawn streets were deserted as Crawly ushered Lot's family toward the wall. The gates were shut for the night, but walls were not designed to keep winged creatures in or out. By the time the sky began to lighten, they had reached the tawny hills to the south of the city. Ibirya was whining about a stone in her sandal, while Danela mumbled something that might have been a prayer, though Crawly was not sure if she kept saying "Anath" or "Anathiya", or possibly both.

Then, as the sun crested the horizon, the earth trembled under their feet. There was a cracking noise, and a rumble.

" _Don't look back_ ," Crawly hissed at the startled humans. _Why_ they shouldn't look back, he wasn't sure, but one ignored that sort of, of, _folkloric_ instruction at one's peril. "Just keep moving."

The air was suddenly filled with the smell of brimstone, and the crackle of flames. Crawly's occult senses could feel the heat, hear the screams of the dying humans, even at this distance. The demon fell to his knees, his attention faltering as memories welled up, unbidden: Of tumbling, head over heels, wings on fire, for what felt like centuries. Of plunging into that pit of molten sulfur, that drowned and burned and made one beg for forgiveness or the mercy of a death that never came. Of dragging himself out, eons later, in a strange legless, slithering form. Of reconstructing, in agonizing bits, a winged, humanoid form that would never be quite what it had been, its black wings and serpentine eyes an indelible mark of infamy.

He pulled himself together and glanced up, just as Donatiya turned back toward the city, horror on her face, her brown eyes swimming with tears. For a moment, he saw reflected in them the burning city: The broken, wounded place where she was born, the place everyone she loved had lived. Until now. And then her eyes went dull and white, crystals creeping over them as they did her face, her hair, her arms.

"Mother!" the girls cried, but they embraced only a vaguely woman-shaped pillar of salt. Lot, who was slightly ahead, started to turn.

"DON'T LOOK BACK!" Crawly commanded. Lot's head snapped back around, and he continued on towards Zoar. The demon took the girls' hands. "COME. WE HAVE TO GO." They went.

Oh, but it was hard to follow his own instructions! Where was the angel? Surely, surely the forces of heaven would not have dumped that load of burning sulfur on their own agent's head - right?

 _Why not? It's what they did to you, isn't it?_ A treacherous voice in his head whispered.

_No! Aziraphale is loyal. He never questioned, he never disobeyed._

_Yes he did - he argued. He said so,_ the voice replied. _And what of all the good humans burning to death in that city? The concerned bartender, the widow with her orphans? What did they do to deserve this? Besides - what if they know he was hanging about with YOU?_

Crawly swallowed hard and dragged himself and the girls forward, step by step. Were demons covered in the instruction? Would it hurt if he glanced back? He had to know...

There was a flurry of wings, and Aziraphale landed beside them. He was sooty and stank of sulfur, but those wings were still pure white underneath, and the angel himself looked unharmed.

"Oh, thank...Someone," Crawly breathed. "Did you...were you able to...?"

Aziraphale shook his head, and the demon thought for a moment he saw tears in his eyes. Then he took Danela's hand. "Come on. Let's get these three somewhere safe."

~~~

"Do you know what I just realized?" Aziraphale said quietly.

Crowley paused the audiobook once more. "What's that, Angel?"

"We never had to be there in the first place."

The demon looked at him quizzically. "Well, obviously _I_ didn't _have_ to be there. But you had instructions."

"Yes, but..." Aziraphale swallowed. "They didn't _need_ me to observe the goings-on in the city, or to find ten righteous men. They had everything they needed in the Earth Observation Files, if they cared to look. And it wasn't as if Sandalphon listened to my opinions on the matter anyway. He, and Gabriel, presumably, they wanted to say: "Look, we personally had someone take a look, and confirm what an awful, sinful place this was. It was a... a PR move, I suppose you would call it."

Crowley's jaw clenched. "Those _fucking bastards_!" he spit.

Aziraphale smiled weakly. "Yes, well. No use getting upset over it now, I suppose. We both know what they were like back then."

" _Back then_?"

"Well, they haven't tried to personally set anything on fire in the last three thousand years," Aziraphale pointed out. "And they have gotten enough of a kick in the pants recently to possibly prompt some further...mellowing 12."

He took Crowley's hand. "My dear, why don't you put that down for now? Listening to this is just bringing back bad memories..."

"In a minute, Angel. I'm nearly at the end." He pushed 'play'.

"Yes, but..." Aziraphale bit down on the end of his sentence as Crowley made a 'shush' gesture. He was not surprised to see the horrified look on the demon's face as he reached the end of the chapter.

"Angel, what the _fuck_ is this ending?!"

Crowley reversed the recording a bit and then turned on the speaker on the phone, holding it out accusingly:

_Now Lot went up out of Zoar and settled in the hills with his two daughters, for he was afraid to stay in Zoar; so he lived in a cave with his two daughters. And the firstborn said to the younger, "Our father is old, and there is not a man on earth to come in to us after the manner of all the world. Come, let us make our father drink wine, and we will lie with him, so that we may preserve offspring through our father..._

The demon clicked off the audiobook. "We save _three people_ out the whole sodding city, and they go and do _that_? Just...why? How?"

He leaned forward over his knees and ruffled his hands through his hair. He _remembered_ those two girls. They were just regular teenagers. Gawky, slightly bratty, mostly sweet. "They didn't seem the type to...Oh, no."

A horrible thought struck him, about the way stories about women back then always seemed to get twisted to make everything their fault. "Oh, you don't think _Lot_...But that's _even worse_!" They should never have left those girls with him, not after what he'd almost done. Yes, it had been in defense of his guests, but it should have been a giant red flag even so...

Aziraphale wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Calm down, dearest. It's all right."

The demon glared at him. " _How_ is the fact that the only people we managed to rescue ended up incest-raping each other _all right_?!"

"Well, mostly because I'm 99% sure that part of the story is made up. First, all three of them ended up Upstairs, which seems unlikely without some _serious_ penance if that story is true. Second, it doesn't make sense. Why would Lot leave the city to go live in a cave? If he didn't like Zoar, he could have gone to stay with Abraham. And why would his daughters conclude they were the last people on earth if they had seen a whole other city? Finally, that bit of the story was definitely written down _after_ I influenced the rest of it."

"But why the heaven would anyone make that up?" Crowley protested. "There isn't even a moral! It's just: 'Oh, and by the way, you know that good guy and his daughters? They escaped, but something horrible happened to them anyway. The end.'"

Azriraphale's mouth quirked up at the corner. "Well...scholars do have one idea. You know that bit about how their sons became the ancestors of the Moabites and the Ammonites?"

"Yeah?"

"The story was written down by Caananites. Or, well, the descendants of Caananites, anyway."

Crowley blinked. Then he groaned. "So that whole bit was just a 'Ha, ha, our neighbors are inbred' thing?"

"Most likely, yes."

The demon started to chuckle. The chuckle turned into a snorting guffaw. "Oh, bloody hell, Angel," he gasped at last. "Humans, amirite?"

Aziraphale smiled back at him. "Indeed."

The long years had sharpened Crowley's edges, the angel thought. In dealing with heaven and hell's long cold war, in witnessing the worst that humanity could do to one another, he had put on a tough, snarling shell. But now he had started leaving off his glasses when humans weren't around, and his hair was longer than it had been in decades, and when he laughed, when he let that accumulated tension and anger go, it was almost as if the millennia too dropped away, leaving...well, it was odd to think of a demon ever having been _innocent_ , but at least his younger, more enthusiastic, and less guarded self.

The demon leaned back and grinned. "Twisted little minds they have," he said, still clearly thinking about the humans. "It would be excruciatingly boring without them, though, wouldn't it?"

____________________________________________

1\. Crowley had also semi-accidentally become the person customers came to about crime thrillers, spy novels, science and technology, science fiction, and several other genres. Aziraphale had started absently saying things like: "Oh, but of course my partner knows _much_ more about that!" when anyone would ask about such topics. Yelp reviews had picked up on it, even suggesting that the two owners dressed the way they did as a visual shorthand to their areas of expertise. That was somewhat annoying - when one Jurassic Park fan asked if Crowley was cosplaying as Ian Malcolm, he nearly rolled his eyes into the next county - but, of course, persuading people to buy things _was_ a form of temptation, so the demon couldn't complain too much. Back

2\. There has been some debate over whether such human terms can be applied to beings for whom having any gender or genitalia at all is entirely optional. Of course, there wouldn't be much use for a general term that more clearly indicates: "Man-shaped but technically sexless ethereal being whose life partner also appears to be male most of the time, but is in fact a gender-fluid snake monster." Regardless, the tendency of humans tended to _assume_ that the angel was 'gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide' had led to trouble from time to time. Luckily for Aziraphale, such humans also tended to assume he was rather soft and defenseless, which was decidedly _not_ the case, even when one discounted said snake monster's protective tendencies.Back

3\. Such boldness did seem a little out of character for a guy who, according to the text, _twice_ told kings that his wife was his sister, out of fear that they would kill him to claim her...even though, when punished for adultery, the reaction of both kings was: "Dude, what the fuck! If you told me she was your wife, I wouldn't have married her. Here, take her back!" But, again, that wasn't the point Crowley was interested in at the moment.Back

4\. Not when the credit/accusation came from this particular angel, anyway.Back

5\. This was not _technically_ a lie. Of course, the reason for going in the same direction was to be able to keep talking to Aziraphale. But you can't be _following_ someone if you are in fact walking next to them, can you?Back

6\. A proper sin requires free will, after all.Back

7\. He'd definitely take 'exotic' as a compliment any time, and was quite at home letting his feminine side out to play in a very literal sense. As for the latter - well, a term suggesting a dash of first two plus a dollop of decadence had to be a properly demonic aesthetic, right?Back

8\. Crawly hoped this intervention wouldn't be _too_ much of a give-away. After all, he wasn't the only angel or demon who could do this, just one of the more adept at it.Back

9\. When, nearly four thousand years later, the demon finally, _finally_ got to wrap the angel up in his arms and kiss him like he had always wanted to do, he would find that the angel glowed*. But that light that danced so deliciously with his own dark essence, and that remained even when the angel was temporarily cut off from heaven^, was quite different, being manifested from Aziraphale's own loving self. _This_ was pure divine energy blended with righteous angelic fury, and would scorch a demon's flesh at a touch. Not that that stopped Crawly from wondering briefly if it might be worth it.

*'Giving up the fight' ^'A price to pay'Back

10\. The angel had, Crawly noticed, developed some creative alternatives to profanity, most of which were food-based.Back

11\. See 'Warning coloration'Back

12\. See "A price to pay"Back

**Author's Note:**

> This got a lot longer than I initially planned, given that the biblical version is like a page and a half, and it just started on a whim. But there are a lot of details that seemed to need fleshing out. And I can never get enough of awkward historical events pushing these not-really-adversaries to collaborate like they secretly want to do!
> 
> The original story doesn't go into detail about why the mob is so insistent on 'knowing' the strangers Lot is hosting that they try to break down the door. In context, though, it should be clear that that is the main problem here, the icing on the cake of the city's overall bad behavior. It is basically the most extreme violation of the laws of hospitality - positively modeled by Abraham and Lot - that is possible. Certainly none of the other Old Testament references to the story mention "too much gay stuff" being the reason the city was destroyed; they usually focus on things like treating the poor and travelers badly, or general sexual immorality. And yet, somehow, the genders of the characters involved are what later readers focused on. [Long, frustrated sigh].
> 
> In every fic I've seen so far, the line from the show in which Crowley states that the name "Crawly" was too "squirming effetish" gets translated to "squirming-at-your-feetish." I'm not sure if it is a mishearing based on the snake thing, or a deliberate re-write. Either is understandable: it is an odd word for Crowley to treat negatively, especially given his choice of outfit in that scene. But one possibility, consistent with the evolution of his image over time, could be that he is starting to find his initial softer look inconvenient or even risky among certain humans and/or demons, and is beginning to cultivate a more dangerous-looking aesthetic. We could argue about how much he succeeds, of course; Shadwell thinks he's mafia based on the 'flash bastard' look of later centuries, but Shadwell is kind of an idiot. In any case, this seemed like a good story to play with that idea in. 
> 
> Regarding depictions of the local culture:  
> The region south of the Dead Sea where Sodom and Gomorrah are traditionally placed was known for its date groves - though whether Pratchett and Gaiman were aware of that that when deciding to have Crowley fondly remember a little place that served fermented date and lemongrass cocktails, I couldn't say.  
> I don't know what the veiling practices would have been in the area in 2000-some BC, but it started pretty early in the near-east, often with the rather victim-blaming justifications hinted at here.  
> Chemosh, the deity invoked by the bartender, was the primary god of the Moabites, as El was for the Caananites. Couldn't find much more about Moab - archaeological records are somewhat sparse apart from one carved stone commemorating a battle - so the names Donatiya, Keret, Paebel, and Yassib are Caananite names from Ugarit, while Birsha is the name of a king of Gomorrah mentioned in Genesis. The daughters' names are variants I made up of the male Caananite names Danel and Ibaranu. Danela's 'friend' Anathiya is named after Anath, Goddess of love and war.
> 
> Wasn't sure about rating but I recall being assigned readings in high school that got way more graphic than this does so kept it at T.


End file.
